


Five people who asked Lawrence Kutner for advice (and one person he gave it to anyway)

by shinealightonme



Category: House M.D.
Genre: 5 Things, Angst, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-27
Updated: 2009-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-03 19:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinealightonme/pseuds/shinealightonme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Kutner Fest for prompt 62, "five times people came to Kutner for advice, and one time they didn't."  Originally posted <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/kutner_love/26924.html">on LJ</a>.</p><p>Thanks to <a href="http://capeofstorm.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://capeofstorm.livejournal.com/"><b>capeofstorm</b></a> for the beta read.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Five people who asked Lawrence Kutner for advice (and one person he gave it to anyway)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Kutner Fest for prompt 62, "five times people came to Kutner for advice, and one time they didn't." Originally posted [on LJ](http://community.livejournal.com/kutner_love/26924.html).
> 
> Thanks to [](http://capeofstorm.livejournal.com/profile)[**capeofstorm**](http://capeofstorm.livejournal.com/) for the beta read.

-1-

"Oh, come _on_, you can't do this to me," Wilson exclaimed, louder than he'd meant to be. He felt justified in using a bit of excess volume – his computer had just upped and died on him with a rather nasty crackling sound – but he still felt guilty when a man walking past stuck his head through the door.

"Something wrong?"

Wilson didn't really want to be a bother – he could call tech support or something, if he couldn't figure it out himself – but the guy sounded curious, so he waved his hand. "Just my computer exploding."

"Mind if I check it out?" he asked, as though he were the one imposing. Wilson nodded him through the door – ah. One of House's lab rats, scurrying around in a maze of insults and demeaning tasks with less respect than House gave his actual pet rat. At least this doctor looked unfazed by the sign on his chest; he wasn't poking at it or toying with it resentfully, the way some of the contestants were.

"Be my guest," Wilson invited, scooting back from the chair so he could get a better look. The doctor pushed a few buttons, frowned, and pushed a few more.

"Were you doing anything, or, did anything happen, before it," he motioned at the screen.

"I was just updating some patient records," Wilson explained. "But there was a sort of crackling noise."

"Hm. I think I'd need to check the inside of the computer itself," the impromptu repairman sounded sheepish. "Sorry."

"No, that's fine, I'm just..." Wilson shrugged. "Glad for the help."

"Well, I could come back in," he looked at the clock on the wall. "An hour? I'm pretty good with computers, I could probably get you back up and running. If it's not anything too serious."

"Thanks," Wilson hesitated, not quite willing to encourage House's demeaning numbers-for-names idea by calling this man "6," even when House wasn't there to hear it. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"Kutner. Lawrence Kutner."

"Was there something you needed...?" Kutner didn't follow the question. "Before my computer died on me so spectacularly, I assume you were on your way to House's office."

"Yeah, had a question for him, but it didn't look like he was in there."

"No, probably no," Wilson admitted. "You might check that he isn't hiding behind the desk, but I doubt it. Check the clinic, he likes to squat in the exam rooms sometimes."

"Thanks."

"No problem. Oh, and if I were you – "

"Yeah?"

"I'd make sure my question was really important, and not anything that House could even remotely construe as a stupid question, before I went and bothered him."

 

-2-

"Thanks again for watching him today," Cole said quietly, not wanting to wake up Matt.

"No, it was cool," Kutner waved aside Cole's gratitude. "We both had a lot of fun."

"I can tell," Cole shut the door to Matt's room slowly.

"Sorry about that," Kutner grinned ruefully as they walked back out to the living room, which was still strewn with Legos and toy racecars. "I can help you clean up."

It didn't take too long for them to set the room back in order. Normally Cole made Matt clean up after himself, but it wasn't anything worth waking him up for, and this was a special circumstance. Matt got worried and strange around adults; it had been a long time since he'd taken to someone as strongly as he'd taken to Kutner, and if letting him make a bit of a mess now and then was going to help him open up, Cole really didn't mind.

"You're not mad at me, are you?" Kutner asked, a trifle anxiously. "Because I'm pretty sure that," he pointed at a dark patch on the carpet; spilled fruit punch that he'd cleaned up and sprayed with carpet cleaner earlier in the evening, "Isn't going to leave a stain."

Cole laughed as he shook his head. "No, I'm not mad."

"You were just kinda quiet."

"Just thinking."

"Gotcha." Kutner paused for a minute, like it didn't occur to him right away to ask. "Anything important?"

"Matt really likes spending time with you," Cole started.

"And I really like spending time with him," Kutner replied. "He's a good kid. And he always remembers to say please."

"Glad to hear it," he nodded, before turning back to the issue. "It's just that he's normally really shy with adults. Other kids, I don't know why, he doesn't have too much trouble making friends, but around grown-ups..."

"There it is, then. I'm a kid at heart, really, I think that's why he likes me."

"I think you're just good with kids. You'll make a good dad of your own some day."

"Let's not get carried away here," Kutner held up his hands in the universal 'whoa, slow down' gesture, but Cole thought he seemed kind of pleased at the comment.

"All right," Cole conceded, but because he couldn't quite help himself, "But I'm just saying..."

Kutner rolled his eyes.

"I just wish Matt didn't have such a hard time getting used to people. I don't know if I should try and do something about it, or just wait and hope he'll grow out of it."

"It's not something you can rush," Kutner said thoughtfully. "Kids are funny like that. They're pretty good at sorting themselves out, sometimes they just need the space to do it in." He shook his head a little. "I don't know. It's getting kind of late, I should head out – we're still on for next week, yeah?"

Cole walked him to the door. "Yeah, I got a baby-sitter lined up, so we're good."

"You know, I could get another ticket," Kutner offered. "Matt could come, too, he might have fun."

Cole smiled, because he knew the offer was completely genuine, but declined all the same. "That's okay, I think I'm going to save magic shows for when he's a little older."

 

-3-

"I'm not good at this sort of thing," Thirteen mumbled. Her last reserves were faltering and she stopped, stood in place.

"And we are?" Kutner whispered, sounding disappointed or maybe just tired. "No one is 'good' at this. You just do it and get it over with."

"Right," Thirteen said, and thought about windows and cars and the very last time she'd seen her mom fighting for control of her own limbs. "And what about the next time? Shouldn't it get _easier_?"

"I don't know." His entire face, his entire body, was twisted with unhappiness; he didn't know anything she didn't, didn't have any magical answers, but there was something like relief in asking questions anyway, like scratching at a scab.

"You know, when you lose a patient...it's not so hard to say 'I'm sorry you're dying.' You get to move on to telling them how long they have and what they can expect and then leave them to their family, but this. It sounds terrible even just in my head," she confessed. "What do you say besides goodbye?"

"Maybe we don't need to say anything," Kutner suggested.

That was the familiar old solution, but it hadn't worked to well the first time around. "Guess you didn't get a chance to say anything to your parents, either."

Maybe she shouldn't have brought that up again, but she hadn't asked to be told about it, either, so maybe he didn't mind. Maybe it helped him to talk about it. Probably not; he didn't look very helped, looked more like she'd insulted him. "No."

Thirteen shook her head, because he didn't realize how much worse it could have been for him. "It's the lingering that's the worst." She wondered if maybe she wasn't saying too much, now.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "This was your idea, remember?"

"Yeah." Thirteen smiled grimly, skin stretched tight across her face, to keep from gagging.

"So don't linger if that's what's bothering you. Just focus on getting inside the door and you'll come up with something next."

"Sure," she nodded, but wasn't as reassured as she let on. She motioned for him to go first, and watching him with Amber, he didn't have anymore idea of what he was doing than she was.

Still, they both got through the door, didn't hang back and watch through glass, and maybe that was as much of a goodbye as anyone could really offer.

 

-4-

"Not to be rude or anything," the doctor sounded cautious, as though he were sincerely worried about hurting Lucas' feelings, "But you have got to be the worst private detective ever."

"I'm not _following_ you," Lucas protested.

Apparently he was less than convincing. "Sure you're not."

"I'm not, really. Look, if I was following you, why would I walk up to you and say hi?"

"Because I already saw you. Sitting over there, trying to hide."

"That was just for practice."

"Okay." The doctor shrugged and stepped into line to order his coffee – venti vanilla latte, which Lucas remembered from the last time he'd followed House's employees around. And he'd gone completely undetected that time, so there was no reason for this doctor to doubt his abilities.

Well, except maybe the fact that Lucas had forgotten his name. "Hey wait up – Kauffman, right?"

"Kutner," he corrected, a little annoyed.

"Right, sorry, Kutner."

"Is there something you want?"

"Yeah, actually, see, my elbow's been bugging me lately – "

"Sorry to hear that, but I'm not working today."

"It'll just take a minute."

"You should really come into the clinic."

"I don't really have time for that," Lucas explained. "Besides, we're both here already, right?"

Kutner frowned, dubious. "And you really weren't following me?"

"No."

"Fine," he sighed. "Your elbow, yeah? What's wrong with it?"

"It hurts," Lucas said, rolling up his sleeve.

"Looks fine," Kutner muttered, taking Lucas' arm and turning it over. Lucas tried not to wince at that. "No bruising. Any sort of recent trauma?"

"Got shot down by a cute girl last night. It was pretty awkward..." The look of confusion on Kutner's face stopped him. "Oh, you mean to my arm? No."

"Right," he shook his head. "How did – "

"Um, are you guys ready to order?" the barista asked. Kutner sounded embarrassed and stumbled on his drink order, which was just what Lucas had remembered, except grande instead of venti. Maybe he was watching his weight or, hey, his wallet, and that was an idea, because Lucas tailed people for a living and occasionally just for the hell of it, but he still had manners.

"Let me get that," he said, before Kutner could pay.

"Oh. Thanks."

Lucas order his coffee and paid, waiting until they were out of the way before holding his arm out to the doctor again. "So what do you think?"

"When did you first notice the pain?"

Lucas shrugged. "Few days ago? I think was at that stake-out...last week."

"Sudden or gradual onset?"

"Gradual?"

Kutner shook his head. "Did it start out bad, or did it get worse over time?"

"It wasn't that bad at first."

Their names were called, and Lucas was careful to pick up his coffee with his left hand. Kutner made him switch hands, though. "Does it hurt more when you grip that?"

"Yeah, a bit."

"It's probably just tennis elbow," Kutner told him.

Lucas wasn't so sure. "I don't play tennis."

"You can get it from any activity that involves repetitive arm motion," Kutner said. "Just ice it, take some ibuprofen. Don't use it anymore than you have to. And if it doesn't get better you really should go to the clinic."

"Cool, cool, I will," Lucas nodded, though if it didn't get better, he still knew Wilson's routine pretty well. "Thanks."

"Yeah, you too," Kutner nodded. He looked thoughtfully at his coffee as Lucas left.

 

-5-

"Look, is something bothering you? Cause you seem kinda...grumpy today."

Taub couldn't quite be bothered to muster up a convincing glare. He settled for an unblinking, emotionless stare.

Kutner clarified, "Grumpier than usual, I mean."

"I've decided to pursue my true calling in life as one of Snow White's dwarves," Taub replied drily. "Just run this test so we can get back to House with proof that his idea is absurd."

"Okay," Kutner shrugged, and for a minute it seemed he was going to do as asked. Halfway through preparing the samples, though, his hands slowed, and while he didn't look up from his work, it was clear his attention was elsewhere. "Just, they've done studies, and people who are happier have improved efficiency at work, so if something is bothering you – "

"Happy people do not work better than unhappy people. Happy people don't pay attention to their work. Why do you think House goes to so much trouble to keep us miserable all the time?"

A shrug. "Cause he thinks it's fun?"

Privately, Taub agreed, but that wasn't the point in any case. "Because he knows were more use to him if we're not complacent. _You're_ happy, and are you efficient? No, you're sticking your nose into my business instead of finishing the test."

"I'll finish when you tell me what's wrong."

Taub could lie, or he could badger Kutner into dropping the subject and getting on with the test, but it seemed like playing along would be the fastest way. There was no way Taub was going to tell Kutner about his financial difficulties, but maybe something else. Part of the problem, enough to satisfy his impulsive curiosity.

"My anniversary is in a few days," he admitted.

"Anniversary of what?"

"My _marriage_, to my _wife_."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"It is. It's just that every year we say we're not going to spend that much on gifts for each other, and every year she buys me something expensive."

"Sounds good to me."

This time, Taub went for the glare. "I don't like when she spends too much on me."

"She bought you a car," Kutner pointed out.

"And look at how well that turned out."

"So tell her you want something cheap."

"I told her I didn't want her to go to too much trouble."

"And that's your problem. 'I don't want you to go to too much trouble' means 'I'm probably going to hate whatever you get me, anyway.' Which just prompts the gift giver to spend more money because they think the price will make up for your not liking it. You could tell her that you don't want her to spend so much."

"Right, because that perfectly captures the romantic atmosphere of an anniversary."

"I'm just saying, she knows that you aren't always honest with her. She'd probably be happy to hear the truth, straight up."

"Well of course, when you put it like that. Remind me again how great things are between you and your wife?" Taub shook his head. "Why am I even having this conversation with you? Run the damn test."

It was positive. Taub didn't know which was worse, the look on House's face or the twenty bucks he lost to Chase.

-

Taub came into work a week later wearing the new tie. He'd thought to put it off a little later, but Rachel had suggested it that morning and he wanted her to think he liked it. Because he did like it.

Maybe Kutner had forgot already.

"Nice tie," Kutner smiled at him the moment he walked into the conference room.

Apparently not. "Yeah, you're brilliant, shut up," Taub grumbled.

 

-6-

Kutner didn't appear much, but often enough that House wasn't exactly surprised to hear that voice behind him. "You know, you should really talk about it."

House did not turn to face him. "We are NOT having this conversation," he announced.

Kutner walked around him, refusing to be ignored. "It's not such a bad idea. You know," he waved his hands in some gesture that was meant to be intelligible to House; that _should_ have been intelligible, really, given the source, "Get some things off your chest. It would be good for you."

"What would _really_ be good for me is not to take any advice from you."

Kutner sounded hurt by that; looked hurt, too, like House had just shut down some brainless attempt at a diagnosis, the kind of hurt look that he always bounced back from. Almost always, at least. "Why not?"

"Because I try not to take advice from _dead people_."

"You listened to Amber!" As though House were playing favorites with his hallucinations. Why did his own subconscious have to be so damn annoying?

"Yes. And then came the bit where I realized she was a psychopath." Not the best word to use, in this setting, and House lowered his voice. He wasn't the only person who argued with people who weren't there, but that didn't mean he had to call attention to it.

No one else in the room even looked up, which really just made it all the more more pathetic.

"You're really surprised to find out that Amber's a little vindictive?" Kutner blinked and looked like he was trying not to laugh. "Come on, House, we all knew that from the beginning."

"We've all wanted to kill Chase every once in a while, but actually trying to do it goes beyond 'vindictive'. It's not even like he was competing with her for a job."

"Whatever, House, you have issues. Talking about things usually helps."

"Strangely enough, _talking_ is a less than worthwhile pursuit when the other parties to the conversation are either morons who became psychiatrists because they're too stupid to do real medicine or lunatics who are even worse off than I am."

"Maybe your subconscious wouldn't keep giving you people to talk to if you would just talk to someone who _isn't_ in your head."

"In case you've forgotten, this all started _before_ I got here?"

"It's not like you really talked to anyone before this, either."

"Yes, if only I had opened up my heart and shown someone what's really inside, then I could live in the cloud castle in the moonbeam kingdom," House snorted. "If talking is such a wonderful cure all, why the hell didn't you ever talk about anything?"

"I did." He smiled a little, sadly. "Just not loud enough."

If House hadn't already been insane, this would have been a brilliant way to make him so; lock him up and set him hashing out the same arguments with himself over and over again. He was so damn sick of it by now. At least when Amber came to call, the view was nicer. "You're not even you, you're me," he muttered, spitefully.

"If you say so." Kutner sounded dubious.

"Why can't you be more like your sister, Lawrence?" House complained, falsetto voice mocking. "_Amber_ knows she's just in my head. _Amber_ doesn't have these ridiculous existential crises where she pretends to be real."

"Of course, you say I'm not real, and you're always right. Except, you know, when you're not."

House was not going to consider that. It was preposterous. Obviously Kutner was the manifestation of the stupid part of his mind.

"But if I were me and this were a diagnosis, you'd at least listen to my idea before shooting it down, right? And if I'm you, and you think you're always right, you really ought to listen to me."

"Your logic betrays you. Kutner was electroshock fun guy; not so much with the heavy lifting manually."

Kutner – or whatever he was – shook his head, a little sadly. "Just talk to someone, okay House?"

The room was quiet for a long time after he left.


End file.
